Star Wars: Huntress
by kisaoda
Summary: Raised in a life of pain and torture under the strict eye of her Sith Master, acolyte Rend is sent on her final test to the planet Taladen to seek out a target for assassination to prove her worth as a true Sith warrior. Meanwhile, newly promoted to Jedi Knight, Keth Qol'mar is struggling to find his own path in life. Hints of something darker looms on the horizon for them both.
1. Prologue

**== PROLOGUE ==**

"Do you know why you are here?"

The child flinched, but did not answer. The burning split on her lip served as a reminder of the last time she misspoke. She kept still, her stiff knees aching as she remained kneeling on the floor. The small room was poorly lit, but she daren't look up at the figure circling her, as a beast would its dying prey.

"You are here," her Master cooed, "Because I will it. You are here because I wish you to learn. You are here, girl..."

The voice whispered into her ear as her master leaned in close, "Because it pleases me."

The heat of his breath sent shivers down her spine. Every muscle tightened under the weight of his imposing presence. She fought the anxiety boiling in her chest. Her first few months here would have seen her break up in fearful sobs, but her tears have long since dried up. If he could sense her discomfort, he did not say. Eventually, she sensed him withdraw.

"What is your name?" he calmly asked.

She hesitated. These interrogations came daily. She hadn't yet known why she was subject to them, despite every other torture she's gone through. He never demanded of her to answer his questions; usually he did that for her. All save this one, and in every instance she got the answer wrong.

"You will answer," her Master stated matter-of-factly. She had learned to fear that tone.

"My name...," she croaked, coughing on the dryness in her throat. She had not spoken since this morning. Her lip still throbbed from his response.

She knew what was coming, just not in what form. Another backhand? A shakedown? Even as she spoke, she braced, "My name is Rin Im-"

A swift kick into her chest cut off whatever lingered on her tongue. She could feel the crack of ribs as she flew backwards. Whatever look of surprise she had was replaced with agony as her head slammed on the floor behind her. White searing pain coursed through her. For a terrifying few moments, she couldn't breathe.

This was punishment. The answer was wrong. The answer was always wrong.

Rin was her name. It was the name her father had given her. It was the name her friends had called out as they ran and played with one another. It was the name her mother sang of every night before bed.

But that was before Master had taken her.

It was hard to think, nausea swimming sickeningly as she struggled for breath. Through the pain, she couldn't remember the faces of her parents or friends. She couldn't hear their voices. She couldn't remember the song of her mother.

In dulled surprise, tears began to flow through choked and agonized sobs. He never hurt her this badly before, but it was more than her body that was broken now. She wanted to hide, to find a deep dark place and go to sleep and never, ever wake up in this place again.

She cried and kept crying, unable to stop, yet gasping at each heave of her chest.

"You see?" Master asked. He was standing over her, yellow eyes looking down with exhaustion. Disappointment. "Every time I ask you, you seem to always get it wrong. Why is this? Have I taught you nothing in your time here? Has my tutelage proved for naught?"

His dark robes rustled as his hand reached into his sleeve. "Once more I will ask you. It will be the last time."

A loud hiss emitted from his hand. Red shot out from the handle he held, ending at a point on her throat. A new wave of fear overcame any sense of pain she felt, instantly stilling her heaves.

She had seen Master use this before. She didn't know what it was called, and never dared to ask him. People died when he used it.

"What is your name," he whispered. The blade did not move from her throat.

Small tremors ran through her body as she frantically tried to find the right answer. Rin! Rin is her name! But that is wrong. Her name isn't Rin? It can't be! Why would it hurt her if that was her name? Then what is it? What? _What is her name?!_

"I don't know!" she cried, eyes shut in anguish. "I don't know, Master! I-I don't have one! I don't... know..."

Her sobs leaked out again, quieter this time, weak with pain and exhaustion. For a few agonizing moments, she prepared for more pain, or worse. She had given up, feeling defeated.

Nothing happened.

Slowly, she cracked an eye. Through her tears, she could see Master was still staring down at her, blade still at her throat. The intensity in his eyes, however, had cooled, and he seemed now to be merely assessing her.

With finality, the red blade disappeared back into his hands, and with deft movement, the hilt was hidden back into the sleeve of his robes.

"Finally," he cooed, "It took longer... much, much longer than I had hoped, but you _finally_ have the answer."

Before she could react, she was deftly lifted with surprising gentleness. She gasped sharply in pain as her body sank into Master's arms. She couldn't feel any movement beneath her as he turned and made toward the room's exit, as though he were taking great care with his steps.

"The truth, child," he said softly as he looked ahead, "Is that you have no name. Not anymore. I took that from you the day I claimed you. That name is dead. You will bury it, or I will bury you."

As she slipped into blackness from exhaustion, pain, and mental anguish, his words still struck deep into her mind.

"Now begins your training."

* * *

 _Author's Note: Hey you! Yeah, I'm talkin' to_ you _, my fine reader friend! **Thank you** for taking the time to read my story! I can't tell you how thrilled I am that you clicked that link. A few points to fill you in on, in the event you decide you're curious enough to continue: _

_1) While this story very obviously takes place within the Star Wars universe, most of the content within the story is_ original. _What I mean by that is that, with some very few exceptions, the characters are all mine. Why? Well, mostly because I don't like messing with the existing canon. Not by much, anyway. Think of it like a side story; I'd like to think it very possible you could take the story and plop it into the existing canon and it be_ very _plausible that it actually could have taken place._

 _2) This particular story, if you were to drop it into the timeline of all things Star Wars, takes place approximately 550 years before the events of Episode IV. I chose this time namely because, well, there wasn't much told of it. That means there's not much around lore-wise for me to screw up. That and you may or may not see a familiar face or two (albeit briefly)._

3) I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS STORY. _Seriously. I write because I enjoy writing, but I_ publish _because I want to share that joy with others. That said, please please PLEASE leave me some feedback. Liked a particular character? The flow of a scene? Hated how whiny someone was? Let me know! The only way I can grow as an author is if I know what areas I can improve._

 _Again, thank you. I won't leave too many notes in this story as I'd hate to interrupt the flow, but feel free to drop me a PM if you want to start a discussion with me about something in particular. I'd be more than happy to talk to you. (Though I may reserve the right to avoid certain topics to prevent SPOILERS.)_

May the Force be with you!


	2. Chapter One

**== PART ONE : Trials ==**

 **Chapter One**

 _Ten years later_

The acrid smell of burning hair flooded Keth's nose. He gave no reaction however as he remained kneeling among the cadre of the Jedi Council. The hiss-click of a deactivating lightsaber rang in his ears, ushering in complete silence.

"You are Padawan no longer, Keth Qol'mar," announced the gravelly voice of Master Qw'sh from behind him. "Rise, Knight of the Jedi Order, and stand among your brethren."

 _Well,_ he thought to himself, _That was that._

He opened his eyes and stood, hand immediately taken by the closest Master, Hemmeth, who clasped Keth's arm with three of his and shaking it vigorously. "You'll do just fine, Keth. Just fine! Congratulations."

"Thank you, Master Hemmeth," Keth managed to stammer before Hemmeth moved along, quickly being replaced with another Council member. The line was thankfully short. Some of the Council were offworld, attending via holotransmission.

"Proud of you, we are. A long journey you have taken," said the holo image of the short Master Yoda before nodding with a wink and blinking out before Keth could reply. Others said about as much, followed either by ending their holocasts or exiting the room to perform other duties. Pomp and circumstance were not typically exaggerated in Jedi ceremony.

Eventually, that left only two in the Council Chambers, Keth himself and Master Qw'sh. It was Qw'sh who had performed the knighthood. Insisted upon it, actually, now that Keth thought about it. The Dug remained passive and silent as the others had left, patiently waiting for a turn to speak to the new Knight. In private, it seemed.

Qw'sh slowly padded up to Keth, walking on his hands as most Dugs are wont to do. Keth stood a good two feet taller than the Jedi Master, but Qw'sh's presence in the Force filled the room far more than his small stature let on. He clearly deserved his ranks as both Master and High Council member.

The Jedi Master chuckled as he held out a hand - one of his feet, Keth noted, - and dropped something into the Knight's open palm: his Padawan braid, now cleanly severed from his scalp.

"You have done well, young one," mused the aging Dug, "You do Amaranda proud." He paused for a moment, "Though, be sure not to tell her I said that."

Keth nodded absentmindedly, slowly twisting the lock of hair in his hand. It was a symbol of learning, each knot a new lesson down the path of the Jedi. He had worn his for nearly ten years. Of course, the amount of time one wore their braid was entirely dependent on how long it took for them to pass the Jedi trials and earn the rank of knighthood. Once one become a Knight, the braid was shorn in a short ceremony, and only by the members of the High Council. It was this tradition that kept Amaranda...

"You'll go to her, won't you?" Qw'sh pressed, as though sensing his thoughts. Of course, as a high ranking Jedi, he probably was. "She'll want to fuss over your hair and make sure I didn't take too much off the top."

"Yes, Master. I'll make sure she applies plenty of salve for the burn you left."

Qw'sh chuckled again, stroking the wisps of beard that hung under his snout. Keth smiled at the familiar sight. Master Qw'sh was not a typical Dug. Most of those he had come across in his travels were mean, aggressive, and carried very short tempers. This wizened Jedi, however, seemed the exact opposite. Keth couldn't recall a single instance where Master Qw'sh seemed merely agitated or impatient. Then again, he kept mostly to himself these days, making this meeting a bit unorthodox.

"Becoming a Knight is never a simple feat," Qw'sh continued, "You should know this, yes? Good, good. Hold onto that," he gestured to the braid in Keth's hand. "Keep what you have learned close to you, like a close friend. Remember your training, always. Always, yes. Prepared, prepared for what the Force wills..."

Keth shuffled his feet under the awkward direction the conversation was going. He could tell from the Master's growing look of unease that there was something he was wishing to convey to him.

"Master?"

"Ah, ahem. Yes," Qw'sh said, snapping out of his lost thoughts and quickly clearing his throat. The consternation on his face quickly dissipated, replaced with the amiable old Dug that Keth was familiar with.

"Sorry for that, young one. Old age does me no wonders. Do an old man a favor and walk him to his quarters, will you?" He finished with a wink, "It'll be your last chore for the day, then I promise you can run off to your Master. Err... _old_ Master. Well, _you know what I mean_."

Keth smiled again. "Yes, Master Qw'sh."

They took the lift from the Hall of Knighthood tower down to the lower residential levels and together walked the wide and open halls of the Temple. Qw'sh seemed content to remain silent on their journey, lost in quiet contemplation. Keth wondered from time to time if the Master recalled that he was still with him.

They passed the Great Hall followed by the Jedi Archives. It suddenly dawned on Keth that he would be able to browse the Archive's information at will. Him, a Lore Keeper! No longer would he need permission from a Master to access the data files. He's always craved a life in the Archives, soaking up the knowledge of thousands of years of Jedi history. Preserving artifacts, organizing stacks...

"Ah, we've arrived at the end of our journey."

The words of Master Qw'sh jarred Keth out of his dreaming. They had long passed the Archives and, much to Keth's surprise, had already traversed the halls of the dormitory to Master Qw'sh's chambers. The Knight quickly muttered an apology, which the Dug waved off dismissively.

"Not to worry, for I am guilty of it as well. It seems as though our thoughts can get us _both_ lost, if left unchecked."

He patted Keth's arm, then turned to open his door.

"Keth, my friend," Qw'sh said, back to the young Jedi, "When you get as old as I, you learn to appreciate things your younger self did not. Friends. Food. Time. Most importantly, you appreciate the Force and everything it does for you, whether you're aware of it all or not."

He turned to face Keth. "Trust in the Force. It is more than a simple tool to be used. It is a guide. It will help you if you let it. Just... be cautious."

"Th-thank you, Master Qw'sh."

The Jedi Master's eyes wrinkled in delight as he smiled up at Keth, then gave him a slight nod before closing the door behind him.

Keth stared at the door for a few moments, taking in the conversation as a whole. Master Qw'sh was troubled about something, that much was for certain. Prepare? Take caution? He seemed to warn Keth of the Force, then tell him to trust it. What could that even mean? Were these the words of someone with experience, or something more? Perhaps he was simply reading too much into it all and Master Qw'sh was, in his own way, saying "Good luck." Something to meditate on.

Walking back down the corridor, he eyed the Archive once more as he passed it. Suppressing his hope as a Lore Keeper for the time being, he kept moving. He had someone he wished to see.

* * *

"Three minutes until our arrival," chimed the intercom. "For your safety, as we enter the atmosphere, please fasten the landing straps bound on the seat backs behind you. Once the yellow light found above you has turned blue, you may feel free to move about the cabin."

Even as the electronic voice finished its singsong safety advisement, vibrations from the outer hull began to be felt as the transport entered the Talanden atmosphere. The ship's stabilizers soon kicked in, so the last stretch of the ride became smooth once again.

The pale-yellow emitters switched to blue.

A low murmur rose in the cabin as the passengers began to stand from their seats to collect their belongings, eager to step off the transport and onto solid ground. Trunks, sacks, and other containers were pulled from their alcoves and plopped onto the floor or slung over their owner's shoulder. Attendants swerved around and in between passengers to run their final departure checklists. Everyone was moving.

Everyone except Rend.

Her eyes took in the sights of the quickly swelling landscape below as the ship made for port. The vessel's viewports were reinforced shielding fields, giving her a wide view of the cityscape of Rothals. A large city for Taladen, or so she was told. In truth, it wasn't much more than the single airpad and a few multi-story buildings, most likely hotels for travelers.

The planet, barely wedged within the Outer Rim, held in absolutely no regard anything of technological worth. While not strictly forbidden, the central government implemented a large tax rate on any imported electronics shortly after the colony's founding several centuries ago. Most have adapted to simply make do without. Visitors could bring whatever they wished, provided it leave the planet with them, lest they see themselves slapped with a hefty fine.

It took several assurances that no such devices would be brought to Taladen before the immigration agency granted an extended visa to Rend. Not under that name, of course. She was no fool. "Ramira Thasselian" would be soft-spoken and unassuming, coming to Taladen to support her off-world father in the planet's large agricultural trade. Or so the story would go.

The transport made its final approach to the dock, and Rend could hear the thrum of its stabilizers folding into landing position. Most everyone in the cabin were already lined up at the exit hatch, chattering away like noisy insects. There weren't many of them on this flight, but it was enough to sting Rend with ample irritation. She wouldn't ever let that show, however.

 _Never show your anger,_ she had learned over years of training. _Let it power your skills instead._

And she was angry. Always angry.

A soft thud with a slight rocking indicated that the transport had landed, which was confirmed as the exit hatch opened to the terminal gate. Only as the others began filing out did Rend climb from her seat. Her simple gown of blue and cream - traditional enough by Talanden standards - swept over her satchel, the only luggage she deigned to bring with her. It would be all she would need.

Stepping off of the craft and onto the gate, Rend was welcomed by a smiling attendant. "Please enjoy your stay, ma'am," he said cheerfully.

She passed him without acknowledgement.

The terminal was small, so much so that there was a single customs guard on duty. As the passengers filed through his station, he searched their belongings and registered their visas. While a quick and simple procedure in most spaceports, it appeared that he would introduce Rend to Talanden's amazing lack of hurry.

Agitation flared within her as she waited, but, again, she stored the feeling under a cool and passive demeanor.

As the line thinned, she took in the sights from her viewpoint. Several stalls lined the hallway beyond customs, eager to sell their wares - most likely overpriced - to those just arriving to the planet. The number of them seemed unnecessarily high for such a small building the spaceport was housed in, making it appear cramped and busy. That would be true if there were any actual buyers.

"Name and reason for stay," droned the customs guard. His lack of enthusiasm was apparent.

She gave him a glance, then summoned her training through instinct. A warm smile cracked on her face. She even threw in hints of uncertainty and awe.

"Ramira Thasselian," she replied, handing him her visa. "Extended stay for employment. Sir."

If he noticed her demeanor, he gave no indication. Taking the card from her hand, the guard glanced down at it.

"Chandrila, eh?" he mused, looking up at her in appraisal. She fought to hide her hatred of him and nodded with a grin.

"Yes, sir. It's a big change for me, but I'm excited to be here!"

"I can imagine," he said flatly, then moved his stare to her bag. "That all you have? On an extended visa, no less?"

"Yes, sir," she sighed, flashing a look of embarrassment even as her back stiffened. "I don't have much, sir."

 _I don't have time for this_ , her thoughts hissed.

"Well, you wouldn't mind if I took a look, now would you, lass?"

Without waiting for a reply, he reached for her bag.

She clenched and her character broke. A look of vicious intensity flared at him, "You do not need to look in my bag."

The guard abruptly froze, replying in monotone, "I don't need to look in your bag."

Her eyes met his, traces of yellow showing through, "You will approve my visa."

He was shaking, but his eyes remained dull, "I will approve your visa."

A few jots in his ledger confirmed she had a welcome stay on Talanden. It wouldn't matter that his hand wrote in shaky script. His pencil all but flew from his hand as he finished, clattering to the desk.

Red traced around her now golden irises. Her stare was relentless. In a whisper she slammed him with as much of the Force as she dared, "You will forget my face."

Tears welled in his eyes as his breathing became ragged. "I... I will... I will forget..." Suddenly, the guard's entire demeanor stilled. His eyes glazed over and he breathed out a sigh, as though content.

Rend broke her stare, swiftly put on the mask of Ramira once again, and flashed him a smile that didn't seem to reach eyes that were once again a very clear blue. "Thank you, sir," she squeaked cheerily, "Have a wonderful day!"

She spun about, clutching her satchel, and brisked past his station. The guard remained motionless, only nodding a farewell long after she had left.

Once she exited the building, she squinted through the bright sun and surveyed her surroundings. As she had seen from the transport ship, much of the port city of Rothals surrounded the spaceport itself, with most structures smaller than two or three stories. The roads weren't cluttered, though a few taxis - some of them animal-pulled coaches - were parked not too far from the terminal, ready to take offworlders to their destinations.

Rend approached one of these, calling to the waiting coachmen. He tipped his invisible hat to her in greetings and she stepped into the coach.

"The town of Mendri, please!" she asked pleasantly through the coach intercom.

"Right away, miss!" came the reply. Soon, the coachman's shout to the crustaceon-like beast in front could be heard, and she felt the lurch of the vehicle.

Mendri. Her future home. If she had thought that Rothals was technologically crippled, Mendri was downright backwater. But Rend knew this. She had prepared.

She would spend time with the locals. Become their friends.

Then she would find her target and kill them.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

The soft song of a Trelili bird filled Keth's ears as he entered the Gardens. A medium sized alcove in the middle of the Jedi Temple, it's roofless top granted much needed sunlight to the topiary growing within. Moisture from the humid air already began to cling to him, his woolen Jedi robes not helping in the slightest.

After searching in the Jedi dormitory for his recently made ex-Master, Keth found his suspicions were correct.

Amaranda's violet hair brushed the stone tile beneath her as she stood on one hand, bare feet pointed upward. Eyes closed, she was lost in deep meditation. Her face, normally a light shade of pink, was flushed a darker magenta. _Been here quite a while_ , he mused. It was to her credit that she remained perfectly still, as though her bright colored skin and odd stance was perfectly at home in her surrounding environment.

She came here often to meditate, frequently choosing poses and exercises such as this to push her physical limits as she got lost in the flow of the Force. More than once did she encourage Keth to join her in these exercises, but he preferred the more traditional cushions of the much cooler meditation rooms inside.

Not wanting to disturb her, Keth glided to a nearby bench and seated himself, the hints of a smile growing on his face. Seeing her like this, holding a perfect balance of grace, form, and determination, brought back pleasant memories of his training. Now fresh in her thirties, Amaranda had taken him on as his trainer while she herself had just recently graduated into Knight of the Order. She was known for being uncommonly talented among her peers, and that talent, to his Padawan eyes, only grew from there as they both aged.

"You're staring."

Her voice startled him from his recollections. With a blush, he stood up and gave a respectful bow. "My apologies, Master. It was not my intention to gawk."

"I am also no longer your Master," she chided flatly.

His blush deepened. Keth wasn't sure how she would have taken his graduation. Zeltrons had their moods, of course, which he had grown quite accustomed to over the years. Leading up to the knighting, she had grown quiet. Supportive, yes, but distant.

She laughed suddenly, her voice lilting in cheerful tones. Opening her eyes, Amaranda smiled at him. Though her face was upside-down, he could clearly see her amusement.

"I'm _teasing_ you, Keth."

"Oh," he sighed as he sat back down, his embarrassment shifting from one reason to another. This wasn't the first time her playful nature caught the best of him.

She flexed forward, bringing her feet to the ground in a seemingly effortless motion, then stood upright. Sweat beaded on her skin as she stretched her limbs one by one. After her routine, she dried herself off, swept up her Jedi robes - left in a neat pile nearby - and promptly sat next to him.

Jedi Knight Amaranda was never one to be considered imposing. She was taller than most, even among other Zeltrons, and stood at least a hand higher than Keth himself. Even so, she did her best to remain modest and unassuming toward others, diffusing early on any sense of intimidation.

Her hand ran up the back of his head, feeling the spot his braid had been. Clucking in disapproval, she eyed his hair, "Qw'sh's work, I assume?"

Keth chuckled and nodded, "He said you might notice."

"Notice? I'm surprised no one else has openly mocked you for it!" Her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion, hand going to her lightsaber. "Or have they?"

She brought him to laughter, in which she soon joined. To Keth, it felt good to relax this way after these last few weeks of distance, especially with one who understood the trials he went through in these past few weeks almost as much as he. Amaranda had always been open with him regarding her own training, making his own that much more bearable. Without her guidance, he wasn't sure where he'd be.

As their laughter died, Keth found himself staring at the braid, realizing he had been holding onto it ever since Master Qw'sh handed it to him.

"It will be different now, you know," Amaranda said, a serious note in her tone. "You get to make your own decisions now. That means the responsibility of your mission lies with you. Just be sure and-."

"Trust the Force," he finished, finding her statement. He was rewarded with a knock to the head.

"Just be sure and _not do anything stupid_ ," she chided, crossing her arms and staring at him disapprovingly. While Keth rubbed his head, she cracked a smile and nudged him with her elbow, "Ah, but I guess that's good advice, too. Always trust in the Force, Keth."

"I know," he sighed. "I thought I was prepared for this. Thought I was excited. I mean, I _am_ excited, just... not in the way I had thought."

"Dreams of glory running through your head, maybe?" Amaranda sniffed, "Not very Jedi of you, Keth."

"No!" he protested, "No, nothing like that!"

"I'm teasing you _again_ , Keth. You really ought to lighten up today. You're usually better than this."

"Sorry," he muttered, "It's just been a bit weird."

"Yeah," she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. The sunlight fell on her face, and Keth could feel contentment radiating from her. Whether that was the Force or her Zeltronian telepathy, he wasn't sure.

"Look, Keth, I know what you mean. It was like that for me too."

He was actually surprised, "Really?"

"Of course. I was excited to get out in the galaxy and do some good for people. Save planets, rescue innocents, beat the bad guys. The whole Jedi trope. But once I knelt in front of the Council... no, even before that, I realized that wasn't for me. When I announced that I wanted to train a Padawan, I was afraid the Council would say no. I was surprised how quickly they approved. Seemed like everyone but me was in on knowing my path before I did." She paused for a moment, then let out a light chuckle, "Even my Master."

"And do you?" he asked.

Amaranda opened her eyes to look at him inquisitively, "Do I what?"

"Do you know my path?" Before she could respond, he pressed on, "I've been getting this nagging feeling, whether it's the Force or no, that others are trying to warn me of something. Like they're all in on this big joke and dropping big hints about it before I trip on the prank. Maybe worse. I don't know." He shrugged his shoulders.

She sat upright, clasping her hands around her knee. Brown eyes assessed him inquisitively. "Oh? Who's 'they'?"

When he hesitated, she tapped his leg encouragingly with her foot. "Go on."

"Well... mostly, it was Master Qw'sh. He seemed to-"

"Qw'sh?" Amaranda said, leaning back in relief, "Qw'sh had dire forebodings for me too at my Knighthood, you know."

That gave Keth reason to pause. "He did?"

"He practically implied that I would be fighting off the entire Sith order single-handedly, though I suppose he never mentioned them by name..."

"I... wow."

"I know!" she exclaimed with a grin. "And considering that the Sith are extinct, I suppose I can take credit for that, hmm?"

She spoke in jest, but he shuffled uncomfortably.

"Now what?" she asked, nudging with her foot again.

Keth blushed again and sighed, looking away. Once Amaranda dug in, there wasn't any letting go. He was an easy read to her; something she enjoyed pointing out from time to time. Of course, he was fairly certain he was an easy read for most. Self-expression was one of his weaker traits.

 _Best get it over with_ , he thought, cringing.

"I've felt it from you, too. You've been keeping your distance from me lately. It's led me to think that there was something wrong. Whether it was me or something else-"

The vice grip of her hand on his arm startled him. Amaranda leaned in with such intensity that he recoiled instinctively. Her eyes burned with a seriousness he rarely saw in them.

"Listen well, Keth Qol'mar, Jedi Knight of the Order. I am witness to the growing of the ranks as another entered our fold. He has proven himself with rigorous training, mastered the understanding of the Force, and knows when to properly blush at a woman."

Her hands rose to his face and cupped his cheeks in a surprisingly tender fashion; she had never been this physical with him. The heat that rose to his face embarrassed him, and he tried to look into the eyes of his old Master. Were those tears?

"I could not be any more proud of you, my padawan. There is _nothing_ wrong with you."

With that, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his forehead. Keth could smell the mint on her breath and closed his eyes, riding in the wave of peace that flowed into him from such a tender gesture. Feeling her cheek lay against his, he could hear a choked whisper fall into his ear, "I do not know your path, Keth, but I know it is not here."

She left without another word.

* * *

 _Run._

It was a command simple enough. Leaves brushed against Rend's face as she raced through the dense underbrush. Shadows danced in the corners of her vision.

They were closing in.

 _Run_.

She could hear his laughter, echoing within her thoughts. He knew she would die. Master always knew.

The forest blocked out all moonlight, leaving her only instinct to rely on in where to place her quick-paced footing. She had yet to trip, but if she was not careful, her enemies might catch her. That would be the end.

Rend heard the screams. Screams of her younger self, the nameless girl. Pain. Agony. Fear. Master laughed again, cruel and mirthless. Her breath quickened.

 _Get out_ , she told herself. The emotions were unbearable. Burning filled her chest, memories of the boot placed there. _Get. Out._ The harder she pushed it all down, the stronger it became; the darker the shadows around her; the louder the laughter.

The hiss of a lightsaber.

 _Run!_

Rend gasped as she bolted upright, breaths shallow and fast. Sweat matted her face and exposed arms. Her hand was immediately at her side from instinct drilled into her, only for her to realize what she reached for wasn't there.

 _That's right_ , she thought, awareness slowly settling her nerves.

The cushioned seat of the carriage was damp sweat. How long had she been sleeping?

She closed her eyes. _Get out._ The mental command was easy enough nowadays, stilling the tempest that would occasionally grow from within. It wasn't long before she had regained control of herself, feelings of anger and rage mere smolders of the raging infernos they wished to be.

In her meditations, Rend noticed something else amiss. Something _external_.

The carriage wasn't moving.

And there was something else. Reaching out with the Force, she felt her surroundings.

She sensed the approach before she actually heard it. Whomever it was, she could soon hear them speaking as they drew closer.

"...think he has inside, anyway?"

"Lords if I know. Probably some quibbling mess of a passenger too afraid to come out," came a reply. Two men, from the heavy foot falls and rough gravel in their voices.

Continuing her meditation, Rend's hand slipped to the left and into her satchel.

"Well, if dere is," continued the first, "We gotta make sure there we get the valuables offa dem."

Deftly and quietly, she pulled out her favored weapons. Hilts of obsidian, the daggers were long and thin; their points' edges so much so they were barely visible.

"Quick an' easy like?" asked the second. They were just outside the door.

With practiced movement, they slipped into her sleeves, well hidden.

"Yeah. You first."

Taking a final, slow breath, she opened her eyes.

The door swung open.

" _Please don't hurt me!"_ Rend screamed, flinging her arms around the ruffian as he lurched into the carriage. Dropping her full weight on him, he grunted in surprise as they both spilled out onto the road beneath them.

"I don't want to die!" she cried, using her weight to pin the blaster he held to his stomach. " _Please!_ "

"Oof! Gerroff me!" he boomed.

Rend struggled further, flopping and kicking, until she felt herself yanked off of him by the strong grip of his partner.

Her flopping intensified.

"You're going to kill me!" she moaned, tears dripping off her face from her sobbing. "Oh Lords of Eight, please! I didn't do anything! Spare me! Take all of my belongings, just _don't hurt me_!"

Keeping her body loose didn't make things any easier for the second man holding her. Grumbling, he shook her a few times, attempting to get her to stand straight to no avail. The first man, now getting back to his own feet, rubbed the back of his head.

"Alright, that's enough o'that. Cut it out and stand straight. Yer giving my mate her a helluva time." He paused, aiming his blaster at her. "You gonna stay still?"

Sniffing back snot, she meekly nodded and put weight on her own legs. The first man nodded to the second, who muttered to himself as he let her go. The blaster was still aimed straight at her chest.

"Don't do nuttin' funny, hear?"

She nodded again, hiccuping.

He kept her in his sights as the second man looked into the carriage. After a moment, he pulled out holding her satchel and tossing it to the first. "Looks like that's all she has, right there."

"No kiddin'?" The first caught it with his free hand and looked back at Rend incredulously. Shaking his head, he sighed and gestured forward with his blaster. "Well, alright. Get her up to Mavin."

Pushed from behind by the second man, Rend was lead to the front of the carriage. She kept to a whimper, her eyes puffy and red. A quick scan ahead showed a total of seven men, including the two behind her. The other five were convened together in discussion. All were quite armed with some slinging laser rifles, others with crossbows, and one with a pike staff.

The beasts that pulled the carriage snorted nervously as she passed, which alerted the man with the staff. The conversation halted as he turned to face the three of them while they approached.

"Who is this and why isn't she dead?" Pike Man asked, resting on his staff as though bored. The others behind him remained stoically quiet. _So, he's the leader_ , she thought.

The first man - the one with the blaster - gestured back to the carriage, "Found 'er in the cart, I did. Thought you might know what to do with 'er."

Rend was pulled to a halt about six paces away from Pike Man, who must be Mavin. The other four slowly fanned out around them, casually holding their weapons at ease. Rend sniffed, then lowered her eyes to the dirt beneath her sandaled feet, shrinking in on herself.

"Of course I know what to do with her, Sed. You shoot her."

The others behind Mavin chuckled. He appraised her as she kept her eyes down.

"Well, on second thought," he continued, rubbing his stubbled chin, "Someone with a frame like hers could fetch us a pretty mark or two in the right markets. Slap some boy clothes and she'd probably even fetch _more_. What do we think, gentlemen?"

More chuckles. Rend noted the hints of hunger from some of them. Typical. This was all typical.

"And you, my darling?" Mavin cooed. "What do _you_ think? Better than a blaster hole to the chest, yeah?"

Rend muttered a response to the ground.

He leaned in with exaggerated effort, "Sorry, miss, what was that?"

"I said," she cooed in response, "Your mistake was to delay my trip."

The others oohed and muttered their surprise at her icy reply. It was obvious no one in their coterie spoke to Mavin in such a manner. Mavin, to his credit, kept his cool demeanor, leaning back in interest.

"Oh, is that so? Not the meek little thing that Sed and Vando took you for, eh? And just who is this girl that can't spare time for us in what must be a very important journey?"

So very typical.

"I'll tell you the moment before your death," she promised in nothing but ice. "After I've played with your toys."

Her eyes darted up to met his, and she kindled the smolders of fury toward him. True surprise took hold of his face, and he failed to fully mask the hints of fear and uncertainty he was surely feeling.

Before he could react further, Vando grunted in surprise and pain as one of her daggers found itself in his stomach. A flick of her wrist drug it effortlessly across, leaving him to catch whatever may fall out. One of Sed's eyes met itself with her other dagger. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Sliding her blades free, Rend ducked and tumbled to Mavin's side, who desperately began calling for the others to shoot her. He himself backed away, clutching his pike staff against his chest.

The man on the far left, raising his rifle to aim at her rolling body, found his Achilles tendon severed instead. A second knife slashed across his neck as he fell.

Laser bolts flew past her as she dashed to the next victim. He actually cried out as he aimed another shot of his crossbow at her. There was no smile on Rend as her knife went up through his jaw and into his skull. Just rage. Channeled rage fueling her every movement with precision and control. It was what Master had shaped within her. _Do not explode your anger upon your enemies_ , he would say. _Funnel it instead. So much more effective_.

She burned with hatred in admitting it, but he was right.

Three remaining.

Bringing up the flat of a bloodied dagger to her face, she deflected a blast aimed for it. Vibrations from the recoil shook her wrist, but the weapon was designed for such a strike. Tempered songsteel for a blade, light and silvery, was surprisingly resistant to heavy force. Not to mention deathly sharp. The obsidian hilt, longer than usual daggers, kept the ends heavy to balance out the shocks and blows from repetitious use. It took much, _much_ practice from many years of training to use them. Deathsong, she called them. And Deathsong they were.

They whistled in the air as Rend flung them to the two remaining of Mavin's men. One landed in the heart. The other through the skull.

One left...

Panting, she ceased her mad dashing, slowly standing upright. Bringing her hands to her sides, Rend turned to face Malvin, who had taken up a full defensive position. Though he was far inferior to Rend, he was no fool to combat. Seeing six of his men fall before her in the span of seconds had spooked him, and he was completely on guard.

"Who are you?" he whispered, choking back anger and fear.

Rend cocked her head at him. "Did you not hear it in the final sounds of your men?"

He lunged. A quick sidestep let her slip behind him as he tumbled past her. She brought a foot up and kicked him hard in the back, using his momentum to send him toppling to the ground. He quickly spun around, bringing his pike staff up to protect himself, only to find her standing over him. Her face remained passive, though the burning yellow in her eyes sent chills up his spine.

Her wrists flicked, and the daggers quivered in the bodies of his men. Rising on their own, they then flung into her open hands. Her eyes never left his. Not even when she flicked the sides of the hilts, the blades splitting open down their centers, red beams hissing to life. Not even when they lined up to his neck, flesh reflecting their sickly glow.

"I am Death."

Deathsong sang.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The door chime buzzed. Keth lay sprawled on his cot. His arm lay over his eyes, the pressure on his face bringing small comfort. He hadn't bothered to turn on any lights, much less change out of his ceremonial robes.

"No. Go away," he called.

The door buzzed more persistently.

Keth groaned. It hadn't even been an hour since his meetup with Amaranda, and the abrupt - and strange - ending to that left him confused, concerned, and in positively no mood for whom he knew was standing outside his dorm.

"I said 'no,' Syal."

Bright light from the hallway cut through the darkness as the door swished open. Keth cursed silently at himself for forgetting to lock it.

"You are having an odd way of celebration to your Knighthood, sessna," squeaked the small figure leaning on the door frame. Keth cracked an eye and peeked at the Padawan from under his arm. Completely furry from head to foot, the Chadra-Fan were almost comical in appearance. Syal was no different. Standing no taller than a meter, every feature of his head seemed too large in proportion to the rest of him. Folded ears, wide flat nose, and large beady eyes gave him the appearance of a rodent constantly in search of food. Usually, he _was._

"I wouldn't really call this 'celebrating,'" Keth retorted, shutting his eyes again. He'd roll to his side and face the wall, but knowing his friend, he probably wouldn't get the hint. Chadra-Fan were intelligent and friendly to a fault, but subtlety was not a strong point.

Syal sniffed the air in confusion, "But, sessna, this is being the day of graduation! Surely, a reasoning to be happy, yes?"

Keth sighed. Yes, he _should_ be happy; he'd been looking forward to this day for a long time. And he _was_ happy. Well, happy until...

"It's complicated, Syal."

His friend let out a chirp, his form of a laugh, "Complications! Are these not of being the way of the Jedi?"

Keth wanted to be amused. Syal's extreme positivity in his outlook on life was astounding, especially given the stories of his training missions with his Master. Not everyone was happy to have the Jedi presence in their business, yet none of this ever seemed to trouble his friend. In fact, he seemed excited to always have the chance to interact with others, giving them the benefit of the doubt. It was this personality, in fact, that won him over many friends, both within the Order and without. Keth was no exception.

Yet the Jedi Knight was still troubled.

"That's not what I mean. Probably. I don't know."

The Chadra-Fan's feet slapped on the floor as he moved to sit on the edge of his cot.

"I am soon havings of the Knighthoods, too, sessna. Should I not be having the feels of excitement?"

"Of course you should," Keth sighed. Sitting up, he looked over to Syal, who was perfectly attentive, paws clasped in his lap. Being friends with someone who slept two hours a day - in the middle of the day - had its interesting moments. Syal would have woken up only a few hours ago, so of course he'd still be brimming with energy. He was perfectly willing - and, perhaps, expectant - to have Keth completely unload his burdens on him.

"Look," he started, finding words to flesh out his thoughts, "I know I should be happy. Perhaps, on a certain level, I am. It's just... something keeps tugging at me. Something weird. I've felt it from the Council. From my own Master, even. Like I'm running last in a race, or," he searched for something clearer, "Or I'm just now starting a book everyone else has finished, and they all know how it ends, but won't tell me."

Syal cocked his head, "You are liking of the spoilers?"

That got a smirk from Keth, "When it comes to my own destiny, I do. I think."

"Ah, but this should be having the _biggest_ of surprises! Life is being of many flavors and many smells, some good, some not. You would be of the wanting of others to describe these tastes rather than you with the eating and smelling of them yourself?"

Syal shook his head, ears twitching in amusement, "It is not of the knowings of sessna's life, I am thinkings, but of their _own_ lives that they are having. Their wisdom," he said, pointing to his head, "Now being of your wisdom." He poked Keth's leg with sincerity.

Keth couldn't help but smile. How did Syal do this? As unique as his Basic was, he always managed to convey exactly what he needed to in order to put everything into a better light. Perhaps Keth was indeed looking at all of this from the wrong perspective. The older and wiser Jedi have been around, seen and done many things, all amazing and wonderful and terrible. Even Amaranda. Of course he'd be none the wiser. Yes, he'd gone to other worlds, worked with different cultures, spoken other languages. Nothing he'd seen, however, compared to the experience of those in far greater positions than he. Though he may be technically equal in stature with Amaranda now, she was still superior to him in many ways, and, in that, he was humbled.

"Syal, my brain is not in my leg."

The small Padawan threw his hands up in mock frustration, "Ugh! Always of the differings of anatomy. My point is having the same meanings, yes, sessna?"

"Yes." Keth nodded. He waved his hand toward the room's sensor to turn on the light. Swinging his legs over the side of his cot, he stood, stretching. "You're quite right, my friend."

"Of the coursings."

Keth looked down to find Syal fidgeting on the edge of cot. "I am...," he stammered, hair bristling in the Chadra-Fan equivalent of a blush, "I am of the wantings to give you something." His paw was already fishing in the left sleeve of his robes. He paused, blinking up at Keth.

"You are of the promisings to not be laughing," he said, a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

"I promise I will not," Keth replied, taken aback. A gift?

Syal nodded firmly, then held up his arm toward Keth. A sparkle of light caught his eye, and he couldn't help but draw a sharp intake of breath in surprise. Dangling within his paw was a ja'vaa'na - a braided neck chain done in the fashion of Chadra-Fan tradition. Being the friend of - and fellow student with - one of the species gave him knowledge of their culture. Handmade of leather strips, small bits of metal and gems, each ja'vaa'na was painstakingly woven with an extreme detail of knots and patterns. Designed to hang down either side of the neck, it served as a status symbol. Syal himself wore a small one in reverence to his Jedi status - his own style of Padawan braid.

Still stunned, Keth slowly reached out for the gift at Syal's urging. Taking it, he held it up into the light. It was quite gorgeous. Greens and silvers dotted the brown of the leather. He looked back at Syal, mouth slightly agape, who nodded eagerly. Finally, he moved to clip it to the back hem of his robes to rest across and down his right collar.

"No, no!" cried Syal, jumping to his feet. "Must be the hangings of the _other_ side!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Keth said, fumbling to quickly correct the offense. It was a few moments in fidgeting with his fingers before his knowledge of their culture caught up to him. "Wait. Syal, the left side is reserved for... close family."

The Padawan stilled and grew quiet, his hair bristling again. Slowly, he nodded, looking at the ground, "Sessna is being of the Jedi. I am being of the Jedi. Jedi are of having me, especially after..." he paused, swallowing. Keth knew full well what the rest of that statement would be.

Syal pressed on, nodding again, "Jedi is being of my family, now. Sessna is being of my brother." He looked at Keth, saying adamantly, "Sessna is sessna!"

Keth was stunned, having no words to say. The guilt he had from trying to chase Syal off earlier washed over him. He could feel the wet of tears fighting to come through, but swallowed hard, nodding. He knelt down, hand on Syal's shoulder, meeting him on his own level.

"My friend... my brother," he corrected himself, "Thank you. I would be honored to wear this."

The Chadra-Fan looked up with relief, a smile spreading to reveal pointy teeth. Suddenly, his ears twitched with alarm.

"Oh! I am almost of the forgettings, sessna! Apologies! I was of the comings here for a reason."

"You mean other than to bother me and and shower me with gifts?" Keth joked.

"No, no! You are being of the summoned!"

"Summoned?"

"Yes, _yes!_ By the Master Kooloon! For the decidings of your Path!"

His Path. Keth felt is blood freeze. As if the Knighting wasn't enough of a dread, the deciding of the Path was even more so. But so soon? Usually it would be a few days after the graduation. At least, that's what Amaranda told him.

"When is the decision?"

"Now, sessna!" Syla squeaked, jumping with excitement. " _Now!_ Go!"

Keth stood, nodding to his friend, then bolted through the door to meet his fate.

* * *

To call Mendri a town would be mocking actual towns. So thought Rend as she strode through the entry gate, observing the rough and worn structures down the main road. The _only_ road, really. There were scant few housing units, some less dilapidated than others. The majority didn't even bother to pretend they were anything but rusted husks. Long since abandoned, or so they appeared.

"You there!" came a sharp cry from above. Rend whirled, her skirts flaring in the dust, and eyed the figure heading down a set of rickety stairs from the top of the gate. He seemed haggard in appearance as he huffed his way over to her, but as he neared, she noticed much of his visage was simply dirty. Very dirty.

 _Do these people not bathe?_ , she thought with mild disgust.

"Hold! Stop!" he stammered between pants, finally closing the gap between them. Rend noted with wry amusement that he seemed to only notice her _after_ entering town. The heavy bags under his eyes seemed to confirm to her that perhaps he was patrolling more dreams than actual town borders.

"State," he said, finally stopping a few meters away, desperately maintaining a grasp on a slightly warped cudgel in one hand. The way he held it made her wonder if he ever had trained with it, much less used it. It took him a few more breaths before finishing, "State yer business."

Rend twitched the muscles in her face to give herself a look of mild surprise along with a light touch of confusion. "Oh! Sir, I am very sorry. Was I meant to announce myself? Please do forgive me. Is this not the town of Mendri?"

"Oh, aye," the guard huffed, giving his back a quick stretch before finally standing upright. "Aye, ma'am, that it is, and I its protector." He gestured to himself with his free hand, giving a quick thump to his chest, "Cotard Tran's the name, miss, and it ought do you good to 'member it. Now, who are you and what's your angle? Did Picknar send you?" He squinted hard at her with his last question, leaning in with no small amount of suspicion.

"Picknar?" she questioned with a puzzled tone, her eyebrows furrowed together, "Oh, no sir! I'm afraid that I don't know any Picknar, sir. I'm here on matters for my father, you see."

With that, she fumbled into her satchel, careful to avoid certain items from his prying eyes, and pulled out a small datapad. After a few quick button presses, she handed it over. He took it with a quick jerk and held it close to his face, trying to read through the sun's glare. His lips mouthed the words silently as he slowly read.

"Thasselian?" he grunted with an air of nonchalance. He lifted his eyes off the pad and gave her an appraised look. "Don't sound much like a Taladenni name, now does it? You some Core-dweller planning on gettin' her hands dirty for a quick mark or two?" He continued reading, obviously not expecting a reply. The datapad contained much of Ramira Thasselian's background, such as age, planet of origin, and occupation. Of course, that was all entirely fabricated. "Aha! A Chandrilan girl, is it? You're a long way from home, offworlder."

Rend already hated this man. She was about to clip off a rather undignified response for one such as Ramira Thasselian, but was spared by a voice coming from behind her.

"Oh leave her be, you old codger!" A woman dusted off her skirts as she approached, eyeing the town guard with a disapproving glare. "Why don't you go finish your nap, Tran? It's almost the end of your shift, after all." She came to a stop just aside Rend, crossing her arms as a stern emphasis.

Tran squinted back at her, but broke his stare before long with a rough cough. "Well," he muttered at Rend, handing back her datapad in a rather hasty manner. "You just be on yer best behavior here, girlie." He gave Rend a final, scolding glance before he turned and shuffled his way back to the gate, all the while muttering under his breath.

Rend turned to the other woman, surveying her savior with a mild unease that didn't quite make it to her face. She was older than Rend. Not by much, but her darkened and sun-beaten skin made her appear older than she was.

The woman flashed a grin, "Don't mind ol' Tran much. He's mean and cranky and has a head full of rust mites, but he's harmless. Mostly."

"Oh," Rend said, voice leaking with a hint of sarcasm, "He seemed charming enough."

The other woman clipped out a laugh, "Try saying that after he's had a few rounds at the pub." She shook her head, then turned toward town, gesturing for Rend to follow. A flash of annoyance flitted through Rend, but she acquiesced.

"So what brings you to this backwater town, much less to such a backwater planet?" the woman asked, keeping a steady pace with a long stride.

"Heard about the farming here," Rend offered meekly, though she continued to think of ways to ditch the unwanted companion. "Helping my da back home with whatever I can manage."

"Is that so?" Rend felt a sideways glance from the woman as they walked. "I'm assuming then you'll be needing a place to stay? Did you have arrangements?"

"I can mange," Rend replied, keeping her annoyance in check.

"Nonsense! I was just on my way to see Trindi for some equipment. She runs both the general shop and the local tenements. A good word from me and you'll have a room before you have time to drop that dusty satchel of yours. Besides, you'd need to talk to her anyway if you want to go anywhere in this town. She owns just about half of it."

Rend remained silent to this, which the other woman must have found amusing, since she spun to face Rend with a smile, holding out her hand.

"Vareena, by the way."

Rend eyed the hand with distaste, though her training made sure none of that appeared on her face. After a few moments, she allowed the flash of a shy smile, lip quirking nervously, before taking the hand with her own. "Ramira."

They made the rest of their short trip into town with Vareena discussing the local quirks, filling Rend in with detail on people and customs. Rend made note that Vareena avoided discussing gossip, as most small town residencies were wont to do. Whether that was from some sense of courtesy or lack of trust for the new girl, she was unsure. Though the more the local spoke, the more Rend seemed sure that Vareena simply wasn't interested in such things. She had an air of practicality about her. Talk of who grew what or plowing tactics seemed far more exciting subjects than who kissed who or whether anyone practiced any shady business.

This annoyed Rend to no end.

Gossip was the heart of civilized life. Rumors and secrets contained those indirect bits of information that anyone looking for anyone else would find absolutely vital. Interests, habits, and personal patterns could all be divulged about a person after just a few minutes of hearsay. And while Rend didn't _need_ rumor to ascertain her target, it would certainly help more than the fawning over this year's weather patterns for maximum crop yields.

"And here we are!" Vareena said at last, gesturing to a two-story building toward the center of town. It was an unsightly mixture of wood and clay, as though it were slapped together with whatever material was on hand at the time. Still, for the town of Mendri, it was by far the most prestigious. A sign hung on the front with a bold and broad Basic. MENDRI GENERAL, it read, with a smaller VACANCY swinging underneath as though an afterthought.

The two stepped inside with a warbly bell tone chiming in announcement of their entrance.

"Be right there!" came a squeaky voice from the back.

"She'll be a minute," Vareena whispered. "There's not a lick of urgency in her. Might as well browse a bit. See if there's anything you'll be needing during your stay."

Rend nodded, eyeing the store. There was a surprising amount of wares given both the condition of the storefront and the town it sat in. Shelves lined the walls and formed a few aisles to walk up and down through, filled with anything from ration packets and actual ingredients to tools and hardware. Hydrospanners within plastic casings hung from hooks while bins containing a large variety of nuts and bolts sat heavy on the lowest shelves. There were even several standing racks of clothing, which, while all fairly practical, were all in quality condition.

"Ah, Vareena, you're here." Rend looked up to see a squat form waddle from a room in the back to the front counter. It took a moment for Rend to realize she was looking at a Pa'lowick. Trindi, she assumed, had a squat, round body sitting on top of two long and almost impossibly thin leg stalks with stick like arms dangling from the sides. Her eyes protruded from the top of her head, each swiveling independently of each other. "I've been sitting on that moisture nozzle of yours for three days now, you know," she said through the long snout on the end of her squished face. "Taking up way too much space in the back."

"Sorry about that," Vareena muttered sheepishly, "The hands were needing extra help out on the fields what with the broken tiller unit and all."

Trindi made a clicking noise, waving a dismissive hand. One of her eyes then swiveled to Rend. "Who's this, then?"

"This is Ramira. She'll be around for a bit, it seems. Could you look into setting up some boarding for her?"

"So long as she's got the coin for it," Tindri said, walking around the counter to size Rend up. "Weekly rate is thirty marks, including power and water. All rooms have full amenities, though I wouldn't rely too much on the water being hot. Still waiting for repairs to come in for the heating unit."

Ramira gave consideration to the offer, offering a sideways glance to Vareena, who grinned back with a thumbs up. Rend, however, could easily sleep in a hole in the ground over dealing with any of these annoying townsfolk. Still, appearances were appearances. "That sounds... lovely?"

"Good," Tindri said without missing a beat. She turned back to the computer console in the counter and began to enter a few things into the keypad. "No security deposit is necessary, but I do require rent up front at the first of each week. I'll prorate your first week into next week's amount. Don't be late."

"Uh, alright then."

A few quick beeps emitted before Tindri's console spat something out at the Pa'lowick. She deftly pulled on it with her lithe fingers and returned to Rend, handing her a plastic keycard. "Third room to the left. I don't have anyone to take your things up, so you'll have to manage."

Rend nodded to her satchel as she slipped the keycard into its front pocket, "I think I can handle it. Thank you."

Tindri gave a final nod before heading back to the rear of the store.

"Oh!" Rend managed, and Tindri stopped to look back, "Er, I'm supposed to see into getting hired on to the..." she paused, retrieving the name from memory, "Ankram Farms. If possible, I'd be grateful to be pointed to the manager."

Tindri narrowed her eyes in confusion, "Well, you've already met her, then, haven't you?"

That made sense to Rend. As Vareena mentioned before, Tindri practically owned half the town, so dabbling into the agricultural business wouldn't be too far a stretch for the imagination. "Ah, well, would you be alright with me starting as soon as possible? If you'll have me, anyway."

The Pa'lowick would have cocked her head had she a neck to do so, so the end result was a bit more ridiculous looking. "Why are you asking _me_?"

Rend paused, "What?"

Then it dawned on her. She turned to the plain looking woman standing next to her, whose broad grin never seemed to leave her face. Vareena waved.

"Vareena Ankram. Pleasure to meet you!"


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The sonorous voice of Jedi Master Kooloon filled the entire Conference chamber. The Ithorian's twin mouths on either side of his neck spoke separately, giving his words a stereophonic quality. It was a difficult language to learn for most non-Ithorians, but for Keth and many of his Jedi comrades, living with Masters like Kooloon had made it practically second nature.

 _"And so, fellow Councilmen,"_ the Hammerhead spoke, black eyes drooping with a deceptively exhausted look. Keth, of course, knew better. " _We are here convened to appoint our new Brother upon his Path. Knight Qol'mar, please step to the dais._ "

Keth had barely made to the ceremony before the last few stragglers of the Jedi Council had themselves arrived. Master Hemmeth had been last, the faintest trace of a haggard panting to his breath as he strode through the chamber doors. To his relief, none of the Masters had given note to his tardiness, nor that he was still in his graduation robes. He was fairly certain, however, this was out of a courtesy rather than an actual oversight.

He stood from his seat from among the cadre of others lining the room and made his way to the center as gracefully as possible. Though he had known all of the Council members since youth, and had spoken to them all at on at least one occasion, it still made him nervous when they were all gathered and giving him their full attention. Of course, having his entire future about to be announced to him wasn't giving him any peace either.

His boots clacked on the marble steps as he ascended the dais where Master Kooloon awaited. It's smooth, white surface gave a certain illumination to the otherwise darkened room. As he stood before the tall Ithorian, he glanced to the Masters surrounding them, both real and in blue hologram. Some, he noted, like Master Yoda, were absent. Likely they attending duties of more pressing matters, of which they certainly couldn't be faulted.

" _Keth,_ " Master Kooloon said on a more personal level, the Ithorian version of a whisper, " _Are you prepared?_ "

The Knight gathered himself, taking a slow and deep breath. Standing a little straighter, he gave a nod. "Yes, Master. I am."

Master Kooloon returned the nod, then began to bellow out the beginnings to the ceremony. As he spoke, Keth's thoughts went through the possibilities of his Path. He knew with confidence that he had consistently scored well in intellect during his trials, which would practically put him on a direct path to his most aspired goal: serving as a Lore Keeper. As part of the Consular branch, they tended to the vast plethora of all Jedi knowledge.

Within the role of Lore Keeper, they could assign him as an archivist, responsible for the tedious task of storing all knowledge within the Jedi Archives. They would also perform no small amount of data translation from the native tongues to common Basic. And, if he were lucky, they could send him on remote missions throughout the galaxy to retrieve data to add to the library's constantly growing collection.

The librarian was another role of Lore Keeper Keth would absolutely enjoy serving in. They would patrol the near endless shelves of the Order's number of libraries through their various temples, being able to provide assistance in locating resources at a moment's notice. It was their role to both serve as a safeguard to and provide frequent updates of the vast amounts of the Jedi's precious knowledge.

Finally, perhaps most excitingly to Keth, were the historians. It was their solemn duty to hold within themselves a vast array of knowledge pertaining to both the Jedi and the history of the Galactic Republic they served. This required a diligent mind and a large amount of time spent within the recesses of the Archives. Most notably, it was the historians that were responsible for the oversight and analysis of the Jedi Holocrons, which held the revered words and teachings of great Jedi Masters of days long past.

As he reminisced with a near bubbling enthusiasm, Keth caught the eye of Master Qw'sh, who was seated with a rather uncharacteristic stoicism. That gave Keth some pause. In surveying the rest of the room, he found himself with a growing unease. Most of the Masters were boring their eyes into Kooloon himself, all but avoiding Keth's gaze.

He then saw her. Far in the back, hidden nearly completely in shadow. Though technically not a Master, being his former mentor, Amaranda must have been allowed in for the ceremony. However, she sat with a dignified poise, looking forward with a strength he easily recognized as her putting on for his benefit. Her stare didn't quite meet his own gaze.

His heart beat a little harder in his chest.

The Ithorian Master had raised his arms over Keth, which brought his attention back to his reverberating words. " _...through your talents and skills, and with the dedication we have seen in your efforts as Padawan, is why we now anoint you, Keth Qol'mar as Peacekeeper, Guardian to the Jedi Order._ "

The words fell heavy over him. Several beats passed before he began to feel the ice sliding through his stomach. _Peacekeeper_. He had to run the title through his head several times before it connected with him what exactly was being proclaimed over him. This was not the role of historian, or librarian, or even the title of Lore Keeper. This wasn't even a position among the Consulars. This was a role of someone who would quite literally live up to its name. Maintaining order throughout the Galaxy, they served as the Jedi's front line to protect the people of the Republic. Guardians, through and through. Exactly something Keth had dreaded.

He raised pleading eyes to Master Kooloon, who gave no indication that anything was amiss. The Ithorian lowered his arms and nodded once again, " _From here, Guardian Qol'mar, you may head to your quarters for an evening of rest. Tomorrow you shall receive your assignment. May the Force be with you._ "

And that was that.

Doing what he could to hide his frantic anxiety, he turned to look for the pale sheen of violet hair amidst the throng of departing Jedi Masters. Twice in one day, Amaranda had left him.

* * *

"No, not quite," Vareena chided gently, squatting next to Rend to point at a specific piece of the tiller droid's hardware panel, which had been opened for them to inspect and repair. "You'll want to make sure you throw this PSU switch _here_ before splicing the wires over _here_. Unless you want quite the shock, that is."

They had spent the greater part of the morning surveying the Ankram droid and automated units in preparation for the upcoming harvest. Many of the machines were, as Rend would put mildly, barely in working order. Vareena spent much of her time replacing parts as needed to keep them running, but she clearly valued practicality over image. Large rust spots dominated the metal plating on most of the larger units while some of the smaller droids were missing exterior plating entirely, giving their insides a nice exposure to the elements.

Of course, this was all pointless and menial to Rend, who simply needed to put on this front long enough to complete her task. She had a passing knowledge of circuitry along with machinery in general, but insofar as to ensure her starfighter or personal devices didn't fail her out in the field. Fixing automated machines that would spray bantha fertilizer across large swaths of dirt was not really something that appealed to her tastes. Even worse that Ramira Thasselian would know next to nothing of this sort of work, leading Vareena to show her the ropes from scratch.

To her credit, Vareena was a good teacher. She had no mood for inattentiveness and any repeated questions would earn Rend a cluck of disapproval and a small lecture on the importance of what they were doing. She forced herself to earn several of these to ensure there wasn't any suspicion as to how quickly she actually caught on to the concepts. Ramira was no prodigy.

"Like this?" Rend asked after taking the cutting tool to the dangling wires, looking at Vareena with questioning eyes. The wires held for a few moments before a spark shot from the panel, resulting in a squeak from Rend as she jumped backward and landing on her rear. Vareena rolled her eyes as she helped Rend to her feet. She then turned back to the panel, pulling a similar cutting tool from a pocket built into an apron she wore. After a few quick snips and twists, along with the placing of new insulation, she shut the paneling on the control box and threw an activation switch on the machine. It slowly rumbled to life with a whirring hum.

"Sorry," Rend muttered, brushing the dirt from her rear as she shuffled up to where Vareena surveyed the machine. The farmer had her head cocked to the side, as though listening for something. She remained this way for a few moments until she finally nodded, seemingly satisfied. Finally, she tuned to face Rend and flashed another smile.

 _So annoying,_ Rend thought as she smiled sheepishly in return.

"You'll get the hang of it soon enough, Ramira. These hunks of junk take some gettin' used to, but soon enough you'll have them purring in your hands."

"I guess so," Rend said, brushing black strands from her sweat matted forehead. The morning sun was no joke in the summer months here. "I just want to do what I can to help out around here. You've been awfully nice in helping me in turn, ever since I arrived at Mendri."

Vareena chuckled before squatting before another unit's control panel, propping that open with a hydrospanner. "Us ladies gotta look out for each other, I suppose. You've found yourself on a hardened world with hardened people. No one's going to give you a handout, so the sooner you realize that the better chance you have of making it out here. Torque wrench."

Rend reached into her own pant pockets, allowing herself to buy and wear work leggings once she realized they were just as accepted here as the more traditional sundresses of Taladen fashion. She handed over the wrench which Vareena grabbed without looking back.

"Don't you have other hired hands, Ms. Ankram? I haven't seen any yet."

" _Vareena,"_ she replied sternly, wagging the wrench in Rend's direction. "Don't you go off with that nonsense. And they're around. It's a big enough farm, so you probably won't see much of 'em during the work day. Unless I send you out to give one of 'em a hand, of course. Just wait til suppertime, though. They'll all come stomping around the dinner table sure enough."

Rend turned to survey the Ankram farmlands. It was hard to see very far with the tall strands of grain shooting higher than two meters on every side. A large metal hanger where all the farm equipment was stored stood just behind them. The farmhouse itself, rather modest in its size and architecture, was down the path a few minutes' walk from them. True to her claim, Ankram Farms was indeed sizeable enough for a town such as Mendri. Rend's research prior to her arrival to Taladen had shown it had covered several square kilometers of arable soil just outside of town. It made sense then that Vareena put so much focus on her tiller droids. Without them, what little living help Vareena had would be unable to handle such a sizable crop on their own.

"You _are_ coming for supper, aren't ya?" Vareena asked, slapping shut the panel she finished. She handed the wrench back and eyed Rend with a curious look. Was that pity?

Rend fought down an impulse to throttle the woman, hoping the heat from the sun hid her flush of anger. Instead, she looked away and feigned a blush. "Um, no. Er, thank you, Ms. Vareena. I thought I'd just settle in early tonight."

Vareena raised an eyebrow but finally shrugged. "Suit yourself, hun. You should know the door will always be open to you."

They passed the remainder of the day going through the other harvester droids, checking their status and doing maintenance as needed. Twice Vareena praised Rend as she had successfully fixed an issue within the hardware, one of which gave her an oil-streaked pat on the back. The sun finally began to set when the farmer called it a day and let Rend loose upon the world.

"Don't forget that tomorrow we'll be checking in on the aquifers and pump well down on the sixth plot," she warned with a smile as Rend began to leave. "Wear something you don't mind getting dirty. Or torn. Or both, really. You did a great job today. You'll be gettin' your green thumb soon enough!"

Rend waved with a bubbly smile before trotting down the path back to Mendri. The smile wiped from her face as soon as she turned from sight, turning into a look of quiet determination. She crossed several rows of grain before - after a cautionary glance back - cutting through, veering off the main path. In what would be a blinding rush for others, Rend dashed effortlessly through the tall strands of crop with nothing but the Force to guide her steps. It felt good to let loose. Liberating. Spending so long couped up as Ramira Thasselian, a boring and ordinary farmhand, Rend was itching to stretch herself.

Veering wide of any peering eyes of other farmhands heading back to the house after the long day, she blazed through the farmland away from town. Her heart pumped strongly in her chest, thankful for her choice of leggings. It would have been much harder to move at these speeds in some frilly skirt as it snagged and tore at the grain and wild brambles. After a short while, she burst from the crop into a wide clearing. Normally green hills were now coated amber in the setting sun, and she pushed her burning legs onward through them.

Just as the night sky became dotted with its first stars, she came upon a treeline. The forest was thick and hard to penetrate by any conventional means save by foot. Rend pressed on. Lungs heaved from their heavy toil, but the Force sustained her. Had she needed it, she could probably continue this level of exertion well into the night without need of a rest. Luckily, her destination was soon ahead of her.

As she weaved her way through the thick trunks of the deeper forest, she caught sight of a tree with a thin but noticeable gash cut into its bark near the base. The near darkness kept it well hidden from normal sight, but years of harsh survival training under the tutelage of her Master had opened up other ways to see. Without pause, she bunched her calf and thigh muscles into a tight coil, then leaped high into the air.

She cleared almost six meters before her arms found the first branch thick enough to cling to. Pulling herself up, she jumped again to the next branch up. After two more such leaps, Rend came to a stop. Wrapping her legs around the branch for support, she shimmied her way out to the end. There, dangling well hidden amidst leafy foliage, was a medium sized satchel she had made sure to purchase from Trindi the day before. Reaching out with one arm, she pried it loose from the smaller branch it was hooked on and brought it close.

Gripping with powerful legs, she hung free from the branch and opened the flap of the satchel to peer inside. The tiniest glint of moonlight reflected back to her from the sharpened contents within, and Rend smiled. _Soon enough_ , she thought, closing the bag. _Soon enough, and you'll get your chance to sing again._


	6. Chapter Five

The trunk snapped shut with a click as Keth closed the lid. It was small as far as luggage went, especially considering how long he would be away on assignment. In fact, it was quite possible the room he had come to call his own these last ten years would soon be occupied by someone else entirely, likely a fresh Padawan eager to learn the ways of the Jedi under their new master. Such was the way of things at the Temple.

Keth sighed, standing over his belongings. Nothing within his luggage could really be argued as possessions, as that went against the Jedi philosophy of remaining detached from all things save the Force. A few spare garments to be worn, some reading material on loan from the Temple library (he had asked permission, of course), and, perhaps most importantly, the newly acquired ja'vaa'na given by his friend Syal. This he wore over his right collar bone with an odd dichotomy between humility and pride. Though he was uncertain if it broke with code, none of the other Jedi had made comment, so he continued to keep it on full display.

With a tap on the side of the trunk, it rose silently a few inches from the floor. Recognizing him as the owner, it would float alongside him as he traversed the halls to his awaiting starship in the hangar bay. It was light enough to carry or pull behind him, of course, but given his current mood, he allowed himself this slight luxury.

In truth, Keth was miserable. The last couple days had gone by in a blur of confusion and uncertainty. He had tried several times to meditate to bring himself back into focus, but each time he did, his thoughts seemed to float back to Amaranda and the look she had before the pronouncement of his Path had been given. Before she had disappeared entirely. Three times yesterday Keth had attempted to seek her out. Whether it was for advice, any kind of explanation to the Council's decision, or simply a familiar face to take comfort in, he was unsure; maybe all three. Still, his searching came to naught, as she was nowhere to be found. He was starting to believe this was on purpose.

Keth paused in the doorway, taking one last look at his bunkroom before waving to the light sensor which plunged the room into darkness. The door swished shut behind him. He knew he should be taking in the sights of the Temple one last time since he had no idea when he may see them again, but all he found he could do was focus on the clicks of his boots against the marble flooring as he walked down the hallway. His thoughts took him elsewhere.

His Path.

He still couldn't make heads or tails of it. There was no small amount of certainty that he would have been appointed as a Consular; all of his aptitude tests had indicated as much. Granted, his goal of making Lore Keeper was more wishful thinking than anything, but with how well he had proven himself with historical knowledge and prowess in the archives during the Trial with Librarian Mata Peth, there was no question as to where his passions had lain.

Instead, he found himself walking his first steps as a Peacekeeper. It wasn't as though the role was unbefitting a Jedi; far from it. Jedi were known to be the enforcers of peace and order throughout the Galaxy, working with the Republic and its local governments as enforcers of the law whenever and wherever needed. It was, out of a pure necessity of demand, the most common of all Paths. This, however, was one of the reasons Keth was so disappointed. He had hoped to do something different. Something, he felt, more to his strengths. Some unique talent that only he and a few others cold provide as a service to the Jedi Order.

There was, however, another reason that gave Keth such consternation over the Council's decision. Throughout his years as a Padawan, he had traveled with Amaranda to many worlds, seen many of its cultures, and had played a hand - albeit a small one - to negotiating otherwise hostile situations. Only once had he seen his Master with the need to use her blade. Once was enough. He could be considered competent in the various forms of lightsaber combat and had shown his skill in the trials, but it was combat itself that he had absolutely no appetite for. And Peacekeepers, whether they wished it or not, were often placed in situations that called for it. The mere thought of it could make his palms sweat.

Perhaps embarrassingly, Amaranda had known what Keth could only label as a deficiency. So, too, did some of the Masters to whom Amaranda had reported. So why then did the Council deem him fit for such a role? He could make no sense of it, and this only upset him further.

Keth shook his head, admonishing himself. Who was he to question the wisdom of the Council? After all, perhaps being a Peacekeeper really was all he was good for.

He passed out from the hallways of the residential wing and into the main atrium within the center of the immense Temple. Large pillars lined the central path, jutting up several stories to support the ceiling, where the gardens happened to be just above. Perhaps Amaranda would be there?

 _Stop this_ , Keth thought, recalling one of the many Jedi lessons taught to him. _Focus on what's ahead. Not what lay behind._

There were many Jedi in the atrium, being the heart of travel through the Temple. To get where you wanted to go, you'd normally have to head through here first. Keth recognized many of the faces he saw. Some more than others. He realized with a start just how many comraderies he had forged during his time here and out on the field, and the thought gave him no small amount of pleasure, bittersweet though it was. A few of the Jedi - some Knights and others still Padawans - nodded in his direction as they passed each other. He couldn't help but smile at the memories forged here with these people. He could think of no finer folk to have grown and matured with. No finer, save…

"Sessna!" came a shrill cry which echoed across the high halls.

Keth swiveled, his floating luggage pausing beside him, and saw the tiny form of Syal running toward him as fast as his little, pawed feet could take him. He was holding one arm high as he approached, dangling something from his hand. The Chadra-Fan had the look of someone anxious. Even some of the other Jedi had paused to take in the sight of him speeding along the carpeted floor.

"Syal," Keth answered with a smile that came naturally and easily. He knelt to be more at eye level with his friend, who had finally caught up with a pant. "What in the world are you doing here? Don't you have training with Master Kota?"

"Yes, yes," Syal answered with a huff, planting his hands on his knees as he bent over to catch his breath. "It is being of the unimportant now. I am having received dispensation to the seeing of you off."

Keth's breath caught in his throat, feeling an instant pang of regret. How could he have thought to leave without saying goodbye to his closest friend?

He nodded, cracking a smile for the Chadra-Fan, "Of course. Thank you for doing so." His eyes went back to the object in Syal's hand. "What is that?"

"Of this?" the Padawan asked, standing upright and inspecting his paw, as though he just remembered he was holding something. "Oh! This is the something of which you must be taking."

Keth lifted his hands in protest as Syal held his paw out to him. "No, no! Syal, you've already given me this," he said, pointing to the ja'vaa'na over his robes. "You've been too kind already."

"No, no, silly sessna! Not of the being from me. Here!" With a final thrust, Syal shoved the item into Keth's reluctant grasp. "Was being told of the giving it to you."

He looked down into his palm. A small leather pouch was there, tied off with a simple string. His fingers began to move to untie it.

"Not here!," Syal peeped, slapping Keth's wrist. "Of the waiting on the ship to open. Very specific was being the instructions."

Keth laughed, tucking the pouch into his robes. "Okay, friend. Whatever you say."

Syal beamed up at him, then asked, "Sessna is the being of a Peacekeeper? Where is the going of sessna?"

Keth was slightly crestfallen at the reminder but did his best not to show it for the sake of the look of wonderment his friend held.

"Yep! I've become a Guardian, tried and true." He then thought to his assignment and to where he as ordered to station. The smile he had didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's... a bit of a ways out, but our presence is needed there. Very much so, it seems."

Syal nodded sagely, as though this made all the sense in the world. "You are being of the capable to doing this, sessna. The Council is of the knowing what best to do."

There was an immediate regret to the doubts that hit Keth's mind in that moment, but he did what he could to shake himself rid of them.

"You're probably right. Of course."

"Of the coursings," Syal said in fullest confidence. Then, over a few moments, the Padawan's ears began to slowly droop, fur flattening against his scalp and cheeks.

"I… I shall be of the missing you, sessna," he cooed with a twitching nose, "Of the muching."

This was it. The part he hated the most. Keth didn't know when he'd see his friend again once he left Coruscant. Peacekeepers were usually on long-term assignment, but it wasn't unheard of to spend months on the field before returning for reassignment. In all likelihood, Syal could graduate and depart to regions unknown on his own Path before Keth came back to the Temple. He took a moment, burning the image of his friend into memory before clearing his throat."Syal,'muching' isn't really a word."

"You are the getting of my meaning!" the Chadra-Fan squeaked, a laugh breaking what would have been a choking sob.

Keth smiled at his friend, then put a hand on the Padawan's shoulder, "I'll miss you too, buddy. And, hey, there will be time for holochats. I promise."

Syal's ears perked up at this, his beady eyes widening, "You are the promisings?"

"Of the coursings," Keth replied with a grin. He was suddenly tackled by a matte of fur and limbs as the Chadra-Fan glomped him in a tight hug. Keth all too easily returned it.

Finally, they let go and Keth stood. With a final wave, Syal began to trot back to the training wing, likely to return to his training with Master Kota. Keth watched him go until his friend's furry head disappeared around a corner, then turned to the direction of the hangar bay.

When he walked through the hangar doors, he was surprised by the number of ships there. A smattering of starfighers, transports, and cargo carriers dotted the landing pad. Ground crews - mostly civilian employees hired on by the Temple - ran to and from each ship as crew leads shouted orders at them from behind data pads displaying preliminary checklists. It took Keth a few minutes of searching before finally giving up and approaching one of these coordinators for directions, who then pointed the Jedi to a rather unassuming transport ship a few pads down. He nodded his thanks and made way at a jogging pace. The hovertrunk did what it could to putter behind him at even step.

The landing ramp to the transport was already down, and a rather stout looking Besalisk in Jedi robes stood waiting, his four arms crossed over a very bulky chest. Keth eyed the Jedi with a slight uncertainty. He slowed as he neared the ramp, offering a polite nod.

"Uh, hi," he offered somewhat sheepishly.

"You're late, boy," was growled back at him.

"Oh, um. Sorry about that." He fought a nervous tic to look away. "Uh, are you my Peacekeeping partner? Varossi?"

"Ha!" barked the Besalisk, cracking a rather unfriendly looking grin. "Hardly. I'm your pilot, greenhorn. Now get your stuff on board. Quit wasting my time."

The Besalisk shook his head as he turned toward the innards of the ship and made his way up the ramp.

Embarrassed at his mistake and slightly put off by the other Jedi's attitude, Keth kicked off the hovertrunk's power with the toe of his boot and picked it up to carry it on board. When he neared the top of the ramp, he paused, feeling a familiar presence in the Force. Hopes high, he spun, searching for violet hair and pink skin. He fought a sinking feeling in his gut when, at the entrance to the bay, he instead found Master Qw'sh.

The Dug stood there, looking directly toward Keth. Their eyes met and Master Qw'sh raised a foot in a kind wave. Feeling somewhat ashamed at his disappointment, he returned it with a bit stronger enthusiasm than what he actually felt.

"Well now you're just getting sappy on me," came a gruff voice from behind him. "Stop it. Let's go." The Besalisk slapped a button near the ramp, causing it to slowly ascend to takeoff position.

Duly chastised, he gave a final bow to Master Qw'sh before the ramp closed completely. When all view of the outside was gone, Keth turned to face the pilot, who was already seated and strapping in up front in the cockpit.

"Might as well get comfy back there," the Jedi called back. "With where you're going, you're in it for the long haul."

With nothing better to do, and finding no reason to argue, Keth took the pilot's advice and found an alcove along the ship's side to sit in. The cushion was flattened and bare from what appeared to be lots of use, and not at all comfortable. Still, he made do and sat there staring until he could feel the slight jolt of the transport taking off.

Keth found himself unable to look out any of the viewports. It would be the last look he would have of his home of the last ten years, but he was simply left feeling too numb to care. It was hard not to feel a slight sense of betrayal by Amaranda, and he felt absolutely silly for thinking so. Still, he couldn't help but wonder at the odd treatment, like a cold shoulder. After being near inseparable from her, being by her side, for all these years, he suddenly felt as though she were cutting him off. How else explain her disappearing act?

It was hard for him to concentrate on much of anything as the ship broke orbit. It had to wait in the queue through Coruscant's heavy traffic lanes for several minutes before given the all clear to ascend to proper hyperspace channels. Keth could hear the pilots grumblings from where he was seated. Almost absent-mindedly Keth began to stroke the ja'vaa'na that Syal had given him.

Syal.

It was then that Keth remembered the pouch his friend had handed to him. With a start, he reached into his robe and took it out for review. It was quite light and didn't have much bulk to it. After a moment's consideration, he finally untied it and emptied the contents onto the small alcove table before him.

Out spilled braid of chestnut hair, the very same that he had worn as a Padawan. Wrapped around it and tied with a pink ribbon was a small piece of parchment. Curious, he slid the paper off and loosened the ribbon from it. Carefully, he unfurled it and held it up against one of the dim lights.

There, in dark ink and a confident, flowing script he recognized all too well, it said:

 _You forgot this, stupid. Use it to remember your training. May the Force be with you. Now go get 'em. -A._

Keth kept the letter against the light, reading and rereading the words with growing tears in his eyes. Finally, when he could no longer contain it, he let out a bout of pealing laughter, full and free. Just as the ship punched its hyperdrive, course set for his new home as Jedi Peacekeeper.

For Taladen.

* * *

The sound of the warbling transport ship's engines faded from hearing as it sped up and launched itself from the Temple's hangar bay. Master Qw'sh kept a close eye on it until it was finally out of sight. His gaze remained on the skies for a long moment before he sighed.

"You think he'll fail," came a voice from behind him.

He considered those words, habitually tugging at the wispy hairs growing from his sagging snout. "Only time will tell us of the outcome, but no. I do not think he will fail. For the rest of the Council, however, I cannot speak."

He felt the presence of a body approaching, strong and lithe, but he did not turn.

"And what of you," he continued, a tired haggardness to his voice. "Do you think this will work? Do _you_ believe in him?"

He did not need to look to know that Amaranda gazed at the same stars he did. He could hear the clear, confident smile in her voice when she replied. "Of course I do. Why do you think I suggested him?"


End file.
